Team Bartowski Vs the Stakeout
by WeAreAllStoriesInTheEnd
Summary: Rewrite of a former one-shot. Team Bartowski  now Carmichael Industries if you want to get technical about it  spends the night cooped up in a van for a good ol' fashion stakeout. Hilarity, of course, ensues.


**Diclaimer: **I actually wrote this one-shot over a year ago before the fourth season began. It was a humor fic and I just reread it and thought i'd do a revamp of it but for season 5. Beware of crack, randome humor; references to the Teen Choice Awards of 2010, and the film The Other Guys. Maybe even a little bit of Adorable-Psycho. ;)

Enjoy :D

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><p>It was just another stakeout for Team Bartowski, now Carmichael Industries if you wanted to get technical about it. Everyone was crammed inside the newly purchased surveillance van. Casey scouted the area with his high-tech binoculars while Sarah mentally prepared herself in case of a sudden pursuit or firefight. Perhaps both of luck was on her side and she could engage in both. Beside her was Chuck in the passenger's seat, twiddling his thumbs in boredom. Meanwhile, Morgan was in the farthest end of the van, messing with the assorted cameras and spy gear; if caught, he'd suffer terribly at the hands of the Colonel, Intersect or not.<p>

The mundane silence engulfed the van for the better half of the stakeout. It wasn't until the tune to Asia's _Heat of the Moment_ filled the air and caused for three pairs of eyes to dart straight to the source of the obnoxious, 80's pop music. Morgan smiled sheepishly and retrieved the phone from his pocket. The other occupants merely acknowledged this with unsurprised looks. When they returned to prepping for the mission, Morgan quickly checked the caller ID and his heart began to beat staccatos in his chest.

"Oh, hey there Alex!" He spoke happily, ignoring the annoyed glares from the rest of the team. "What's up?"

At the mentioning of his daughter, Casey abruptly slammed the binoculars on the dashboard. Chuck winced and gave his wife a fearful look. She simply nodded in silent agreement. They were definitely going to remain quiet for the next few minutes.

Morgan continued talking to his girlfriend undeterred: "Yeah, well you know, we're just out on another boring stakeout. It's no big deal really."

Grunting, Casey exited the van without explanation. Like he needed one though, his intentions weren't that difficult to figure out. So while Morgan was too preoccupied with Alex to notice where his future father-in-law had gone, he remained oblivious, laughing at something the Colonel's daughter had said on the other line. But then the van's door slid open and the laughter died immediately.

Casey held out his hand demandingly. He growled, "Give me that phone if you value your life at all."

Morgan gulped. His hand trembled as he turned over the cell to the much bigger, more threatening man. The speakers were loud enough so that everyone in the van could clearly hear Alex's confused voice as she'd call her boyfriend's name repeatedly.

Casey snagged the phone from the bearded man's shaking hand and then put the receiver to his mouth. His intimidating demeanor softened when he greeted his daughter. "Hello, Alex, it's your father."

There was no response but the sound of the dial tone. Casey smirked victoriously; slamming the door of the van in Morgan's stunned face before he could utter a single word.

"What did you do that for?" Morgan yelled once Casey returned to the driver's seat. "I thought we got passed the whole I'm-dating-your-daughter thing? It's been almost a year!"

"We're on a mission," Casey replied, adding menacingly. "Be glad I didn't rip your throat out for talking to Alex when you're supposed to be doing your job as the Intersect."

To try and alleviate the tension, Chuck intervened. "You guys, I don't think we should be arguing right now. Like you said, Casey, we're on a very important—not to mention, dangerous mission."

"Zip it, Bartowski!" Barked Casey. "You are not dating my daughter so this does not apply to you."

"Thank god I don't," Chuck muttered barely audible. He held his hands in surrender, disengaging himself from the discussion. Sarah rolled her eyes and gave him a reassuring peck on the cheek. He smiled appreciatively.

"At least you tried," she whispered.

Chuck shrugged helplessly. Morgan however, looked affronted by the entire situation. "Dude, I—I mean Sir, I got your permission to date Alex forever ago. We are both adults and in love, so it's our responsibility on how to conduct ourselves in this relationship."

"Nice speech, moron." Casey snickered. "If you had a shred of maturity as you claim to have, then you'd know that there should be no personal calls during a mission!"

Morgan whined. "But there's literally nothing going on! I mean, come on! I am a peacock, you gotta let me fly!"

Casey deadpanned, "Peacocks don't fly, idiot."

"Sure they do! They just have to get a running start first!"

"That comment alone should be enough to revoke your right to see my daughter in any capacity whatsoever."

"Guys," Chuck tried to cut in again but failed.

"That's off the reservation, Colonel! I have my civil liberties, and according the US Constitution's first amendment, I have the right of free speech. So I can say whatever I want!"

Sarah listened as the banter between her teammates escalated into absurdity. She palmed her face while shaking her head in disbelief. Chuck mimicked the action, rubbing his temples with closed eyes.

"Right and the second amendment says that every American has the right to bear arms," Casey retorted and drew his weapon. The muzzle was aimed dangerously close to Morgan. "You say one more thing and I'll shoot that beard right off your face."

Morgan scowled at Casey, but then realized that there was no way to win the argument and resigned himself to temporary defeat. Grunting in approval, Casey turned around and grabbed his binoculars once more. With his back to Morgan, he missed the rude gestures the little man was conveying in his direction.

A few more minutes went by and there was no progression in identifying their suspect for the evening. The clock ticked on and Chuck was getting tired. These days if he wasn't trying to keep Carmichael Industries and the Buy More in business, or training to become self-sufficient without the aid of a supercomputer, it was another. It usually involved his wife, lingerie, lavender-scented candles, and Arcade Fire.

He absently rubbed his shoulder just the thought of their more intimate nights spent away from spying. Even when previously owned the Intersect, it never made him that sore. Sarah watched him touching his tender muscles, wincing any time he applied too much pressure. She'd turn away to hide a satisfied smirk.

Another second passed in undisturbed silence. It was all Morgan could do to not yank his hair out of his skull. He couldn't stay quiet for this long! He needed to spread his wings.

Clearing his throat, he said. "So, I got a question."

"And I got an answer," Casey replied gruffly. "Shut up."

"You're hilarious, John. Anyway, I was wondering about this certain subject of discussion for a very long time. I have spent countless nights awake because of it and I need to know your guys' opinion."

Chuck sighed and leaned back into his seat. "Let's hear it buddy."

Morgan took a deep breath to build the anticipation. Sarah wasn't amused by this and neither were the other spies sitting cramped in the vehicle. Noticing their impatience, he rambled. "Who would win in a fight: a Tuna or a Lion?"

There was an almost surreal-like silence that overtook the van. Casey stared quite angrily at the bearded fellow while Sarah blinked in honest confusion. Chuck, however, looked very contemplative.

He asked. "That depends. Is the lion in water or on land?"

Sarah shot him an incredulous look. "Are you serious?"

Chuck ignored her.

Morgan proceeded to stroke his beard in a thoughtful manner. "Well, lions don't like the water. But if they were by a river or some fresh water source, then year they might have the upper hand."

Sarah watched her nerdy husband warily, praying that he wouldn't propel this stupid conversation into further insanity. Sadly, she underestimated Chuck's aptitude for obscure topics and was proven wrong once again.

Chuck nodded, "True."

"You're embarrassing yourself," Sarah told him.

He shot her a glance and held up a finger. "Not now, woman!"

This was the second time he had the audacity to be so abrasive towards her. The first ended up with Chuck almost costing the entire mission because of his stubbornness. Sarah recalled her then-fiancée ruining the extraction of CIA's Roan Montgomery from a Moroccan base run by female mercenaries. Such a simple sneeze still made her blood boil at the not too fond memory.

"But if the lion was in the ocean," Morgan resumed shortly, "and there's going to be twenty-foot waves, probably on the coast of South Africa—and it was up against a fully grown 800lb tuna with twenty or thirty of his friends, the lion would lose that battle without question."

"So I'd say nine times out of ten, we're looking at a tuna victory on home turf," Chuck concurred.

"Yep, but on land it's a different story."

"Well, what if this particular tune happens to have a taste for lion—"

"And likes it?" Morgan finished for his best friend.

"Then they'd organize schools of tuna to migrate into the fresh water river by using kelp as breathing apparatuses," mused Chuck. He was thinking way too hard about this.

"It could take some time, but after intervals of a half-hour here, forty-five minutes there, they could successfully have the lion surrounded by an army of ill-tempered tuna."

Chuck exclaimed: "Game over."

"I'm glad we had this talk, Dude. It was bugging me for the past few weeks," said Morgan in relief.

"I know how that is, I've been having a similar dilemma."

Morgan perked up. "Oh, care to share?"

Chuck was just about to open his mouth, but fortunately, Casey used his large hand to cover it. The answer came out muffled.

"Do. Not. Say. Another. Word. Do you get me, Bartowski?"

He nodded his head and when Casey deemed that as an acceptable answer, he released the younger man. Chuck gasped for breath, Sarah reluctantly patting his back. "No more tuna/lion debate, alright sweetie?"

"Yes ma'am," he agreed solemnly.

"Well, I for one still want to know the truth about peacocks and whether or not they can fly!"

"Grimes, what did I just say?"

"I thought it only applied to Chuck?" Morgan squeaked.

"Boys," Sarah interrupted, her voice wavering with concern.

Casey lunged over the seat, cracking his knuckles: "That's it, stay put. I don't want to exert much energy when I try and kill you."

"You can't kill me!" Morgan shouted. "I'm the Intersect!"

Little did the bearded man know, but being the most valuable intelligence asset known to mankind never stopped Casey's violent tirade before. Chuck could personally attest to that. So for once not being the target of his former handler's rage, Chuck watched the scene unfold with a carefree smile sported on his face. This was pretty entertaining.

Sarah didn't think so. "Morgan, Casey, please listen to me!" She practically screamed.

"Not now, Bartowski." Casey growled, and since there will technically two Bartowskis now, he could care less of who he was specifying at the moment, "There are more important things on hand."

Morgan sensed the danger (mostly from the Intersect's intuition) and like a frightened jackrabbit, he scrambled out of the surveillance chair and tried escaping the van. Casey was already in tow, climbing over his seat and into the main compartment. Sarah watched in speechless horror, tapping Chuck on the shoulder (he winced in pain) to pay attention her.

"Chuck! Our mark, he's—"

He glanced up from his iPhone; the app for Cha-Cha still displayed on the screen. In the tiny box which asked, _what's your question?_ He had typed to her dismay, _Can peacocks fly?_

"What's up?" He asked, now giving her full undivided attention.

She was ready to blow. "The mark is gone!"

"WHAT?" The Three men yelled in unison.

"Why didn't you tell us earlier, Sarah!" said Morgan loudly.

"I DID! Didn't you hear me?"

"You need to speak up, honey," Chuck advised sweetly. "We can barely hear you sometimes."

Casey just grunted in agreement.

Nostrils flaring, Sarah couldn't believe this. She retrieved her gun that was stashed in her waistband, cocking it back while grumbling to herself: "Screw it."

"Where are you going?" One of them—her clueless husband inquired.

"I'm going to do what we came here for!"

"Aren't we team-bonding already?" Morgan asked confusedly.

Sarah huffed and practically kicked the door open with her leather combat boots. As soon as she leapt out into the night, she hit the ground running. It left the remaining members of Team Bartowski alone in the van. All of them were exchanging bewildered glances.

"Well, that was rude of her."

"Shut your mouth."

There was a subtle _bing_ that indicated a message had been received.

"Hey, if you guys were curious, peacocks can actually fly." Chuck explained. "They can fly like twenty feet. That's pretty nifty."

Morgan pointed a triumphant finger at Casey. "Suck it, I was right!"

Casey aimed the barrel of his gun to his head like he were about to play a game of Russian roulette. He shut his eyes and considered ending his pathetic excuse of a life just to get away from these idiots he called partners.

But then several gunshots sounded off from outside the van. Casey holstered his weapon the moment he heard a body drop to the ground with a resounding thump.

Chuck gave everyone a shaky smile. "I really hope that was Sarah doing the shooting…"

"That was her," confirmed Casey. He picked up the binoculars again and surveyed the scene. Sarah was standing over the lifeless body of some unnamed terrorist that Morgan had flashed on. Clearly dead, she still wasn't satisfied and continued to fire bullets until the gun clicked empty. "She just unloaded an entire clip into that poor bastard…"

"Weren't we supposed to apprehend him for questioning?" Chuck questioned out of the blue. It was, after all, being the owner and essentially leader of Carmichael Industiries, he had should be aware of the mission's logistics.

He was met with prickly silence.

Then Morgan pumped his fist into the air excitedly. "Successful mission is successful! What do you say? Let's call it a night and go get a victory beer!"

Whle drowning in alcohol did sound appetizing, Chuck knew they had one more thing to handle before calling it a night. "Uh, that's a good idea, buddy. Let's just go get the wife before she accidently maims an innocent bystander."

Obviously, this was unanimously agreed upon. And once the three spies managed to detain Sarah—she was adamant about walking home if she had to hear one more thing about the likes of peacocks, lion or tuna—they ushered her into the van and then drove to the nearest bar where the stresses of the evening could finally be relieved in a somewhat acceptable fashion.

Or whatever a 'somewhat acceptable fashion' was in terms to the life of a spy.

They had still yet to figure that one out.

_Fin_


End file.
